Page 17 of The Inconvenient Compromise
“That is a great deal to ask, Estelle. If it is discovered that I am helping you… well, there could be repercussions.”
Estelle reached inside her cloak and retrieved a packet of letters. It was too dim in the vehicle for Charlotte to know what they were, but she had an inkling.
“What is that?”
“Persuasion,” Estelle stated coldly. “You see, I knew you were at the Hedleigh’s tonight because I stopped at your house first. I have your diary. I have your letters. I have everything I need, Charlotte, to ruin you. And I will—unless you help me.”
“If you were going to steal my private papers, Estelle, why didn’t you just help yourself to my pin money,” Charlotte snapped.
Estelle laughed. “Pin money! Hah! I don’t mean to start my new life as an impoverished widow. Not at all. I mean to be wealthy enough and influential enough in America that I can get my own husband… without your interference. That will take much more than just pin money.”
Charlotte let out a slow, measured breath. Difficult choices would have to be made. But she would not be blackmailed. Estelle had overplayed her hand.
FOURTEEN
Wednesday—morning…
Fiona was awakened by the sound of hushed voices in the sitting room just beyond their bedchamber. Getting out of bed, the coverlet clutched before her as she had no clue where her clothes were; she felt a small frisson of fear. Who was there?
Only seconds later, the door opened, and Lucian entered. “Ah, you’re awake. Lady Ralston has arrived to take you on a shopping excursion.”
“Now?” The word came out in a squeak of pure terror. She’d been utterly exhausted after they had returned home for the Hedleigh’s ball. Playing Charlotte’s games, especially when one was on the receiving end of her venom, was always a taxing enterprise. Now she was expected to make herself visible once more, to face the mixture of equal parts censure and curiosity from all who were privy to the gossip surrounding her marriage. She wasn’t ready to face the full ramifications of what they had done—of this war they had embarked upon. “That’s impossible. And hardly necessary, after all. We’ve not been in town long enough to receive or even respond to that many invitations. My own wardrobe is sufficient— I can’t, Lucian.”
He closed the distance between them, his hands settling on her upper arms as he sat down on the bed to face her. “The gowns you have were fine forMiss Fiona Trimble. They are not adequate for theCountess of Rathmore. And as lovely as it was of Penelope to lend you items from her wardrobe, you cannot go about in borrowed finery forever. Also, it’s important that we not appear to be licking our wounds today. We must both be visible and seemingly unperturbed by those we encounter.”
“This is a very difficult thing for me,” she admitted glumly. “Because I am not unperturbed. Not at all.”
“What do you fear from her? Truly.”
“That she will render us social pariahs. That even our best-laid plans will fail, and she will continue her tyranny. That our ruin will extend to Francesca and my poor sister will never make a decent match… the list is endless. In many ways, our entire future—and the future of any children we may have—rests upon this.”
“All the more reason to increase our efforts,” he stated firmly. “If we do nothing, everything you fear will come to pass. If we do something, it may still happen, but at least we have faced it bravely.”
“Contrary to what you may believe, bravery is not its own reward.”
He reached out, his thumb stroking gently over her cheek and down to the fullness of her lower lip. “If a thing is worthwhile, then it is always difficult. If it were easy, then it would have no value. This, Fiona, is a place to start. That is all. Now, you should dress. Penelope is waiting for you. I must go to the club and mitigate any rumors there.”
“How?”
“The betting book, of course,” he answered. “Be brave, Fiona. Be as bold as you were the first time you climbed into my bed.”
She laughed at the outrageousness of his comment, but then their gazes locked. And suddenly, amusement was the furthest thing from either of their minds. But Lady Ralston was just in their sitting room. So Fiona nodded. “If it goes badly—”
“It will not. I will not allow anyone to treat you poorly. No, I cannot control their opinions, but I can certainly respond to their actions in a way that will make our positions very clear,” he said. “You and I, Fiona, are partners. Whatever comes our way, we face it together. All right?”
Those words made her heartbeat skitter. No one in all of her life had ever chosen to place themselves between her and harm of any sort. Her parents had never bothered to notice, and her sister… well, she’d been so young and so very naive that she would never have recognized ill intent. That he meant to protect her, to stand with her against anything potential repercussions, was astounding to her. It also chipped away at the reserve she was so desperately trying to hold on to. Between that and the wondrous and wicked things he made her feel with even the slightest touch, Fiona recognized that she was in very grave danger of losing her heart to her husband. He offered her safety and security—things that had been in short supply in her life. Along with that, he gave her the kind of passion she had never even dreamed could be possible. All of it was accompanied by the sheer perfection of his form and the charm that simply emanated from him at every turn. And if Lady Bruxton had taught her anything, loving one’s husband was a dangerous prospect, indeed.
* * *
Only a short time later,Fiona found herself in a carriage with Lady Ralston—Penelope, as she had insisted Fiona call her. They were on their way to the dress shop that had once belonged to the Countess of Winburn, before she’d married a peer, of course. She apparently maintained ownership of the establishment, but it was being run by her former employees. If she thought it odd that a countess would still own a dress shop, she certainly didn’t feel that it would behoove her to say so. And in truth, she had a great deal of admiration for someone who was brave enough to do things their own way.
“I’ve heard that the Countess’ designs are incredibly lovely,” Fiona said. They’d been a bit beyond her reach financially. Her father would never have spent so much on her clothing, even if they could have afforded it.
“Oh, she has a gift, to be sure. But Sabine does not design dresses for just anyone now. She leaves that to the girls who run the shop for her. But in the case of friends, she will often make exceptions… and to make Charlotte Farraday swallow her tongue when you walk into the next ballroom in one of Sabine’s gowns—it will all be worth it. We’ll get you a few things to get you through the next week, but really, we must get you fitted for a ballgown so exquisite that it will set all of London on its ear.”
“I think that is a very tall order,” Fiona cautioned.
Penelope cocked her head to one side, her gaze thoughtful as it roamed over her. “I think Charlotte has beaten you down until you no longer recognize your own beauty. But we shall rectify that. And in time for the Duchess of Westerhaven’s ball this Saturday. It will be the event of the season, and we will do everything possible to ensure that you are the belle of the ball.”
